


Wounded Wolf

by iamjustakiddo



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Book: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, M/M, Mentions of 'The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe' and 'Prince Caspian'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:57:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamjustakiddo/pseuds/iamjustakiddo
Summary: The grass was greenerThe light was brighterThe taste was sweeterThe nights of wonderWith friends surroundedThe dawn mist glowingThe water flowingThe endless riverForever and ever- High Hopes, Pink Floyd





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this about a month ago and I originally planned on making it longer.  
> But then SKAM happened and my life is destroyed. (If you haven't watched it- what are you doing????)
> 
> So I decided to split it into multiple chapters. The remaining story will follow as soon as I feel like writing Edmund again. Right now I preoccupied by Norwegian teens.
> 
> This first part could be considered as a prologue to the events in 'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader'. Since I couldn't decide, whether I should follow the events of the books or the movies, I won't explicitly mention plot-lines.  
> However, I do imagine Edmund and Caspian as Skandar Keynes and Ben Barnes, also Edmund is a bit older than in the books. 
> 
> English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes in advance!

 

Oh, my love, my ancient son  
angry at everyone  
mouth full of thorns pulled from nature's back  
yeah, we'll never forget that  
  
Born on an ancient day  
named with an ancient name  
they don't know, they don't care  
they don't notice that you're there  
  
Oh, my love, my ancient son  
pacing your attic floor  
God's in his church with his guilty spires  
yeah, he's no friend of ours  
  
Kings of a rising tide  
nursing our wounded sides  
we don't know, we don't care  
we don't notice that you're there

_-Winter's House, Corey Giles_

 

Sometimes a shiver would take over his body, trembling from head to toe, curling through his veins.

At first Edmund had clasped his jumper desperately, biting his lips as the cold spread through his every joint.

But after a while he didn’t even blink anymore. 

He was used to it. It had become a part of him, a part he was unable to push back, to ignore, to erase from his mind.

It was not much of a riddle either. He knew when it had begun, he knew what caused it.

And yet he was utterly powerless, defeated.

After all this time, he was still caught in an enormous, icy web, dangling across the dark abyss.

*

After falling through the wardrobe back to England, Edmund would often dream of Narnia.

Struggling through the routine of school, education, boyish errands and expectations he no longer felt he needed to fulfill, waited at every corner. Like a butterfly trapped in glass, he was caught in the body of a young boy, bound in time. His stomach turned at the condescending looks he received yet he forced politeness – _thank you, sir, good bye, sir, have a nice day, sir_ \- while everything in him roared up, scratched and coiled.

Peter embodied everything he felt, everything he yearned for. Every black eye his brother carried home etched itself into his heart. He felt every punch as if it were his own.

Edmund admired how quickly Susan adapted to their world again, how she fit herself into a life, himself and the others were strangers to.

Sometimes Lucy’s muffled crying reached his ears at night and he clenched his fists, staring in the darkness while the familiar cold swept over him.

At times like this he cut his mind from his body, floated across rooftops and galaxies until he reached peaceful gardens, surrounding Cair Paravel.

Statues of marble glistening between emerald green and dew pearling across delicate petals. He remembered the call of birds above his head while the gravel crunched under his boots, sunlight caressing his skin gently. There stood the pavilion, almost completely hidden, only the top mirrored in calm waters.

Back in Narnia, Edmund had been 20 when this strange feeling overtook him the first time.

This spark in his chest, cutting off air in his throat.

Rakesh had been a young Tarkaan-lord, that had been invited on behalf of the peace treaty Narnia and Tashbaan planned to endorse. He had caught Edmund’s attention as soon as he had stepped through their gates three days earlier, his skin shining in golden bronze and dark, gentle eyes meeting his. The Tarkaan’s very presence was like a constant warmth, his laughter ringing deep into his bones. They had met occasionally, exchanged pleasantries and polite nods.

Yet Edmund had never dared to get too close, to ask what was burning on his tongue.

When the last evening of their visit had arrived, King Peter and Queen Susan organised a magnificent feast, inviting dozens of guests. Edmund had never been much keen on big gatherings, yet the etiquette demanded his presence. So, he had endured two endless hours by his sibling’s side, smiling and bowing, the taste of heavy wine coating his senses more and more.

As he finally had been able to escape, his gait was less steady already and his vision blurred around the edges, as if the world were wrapped in cotton. Leaving the vivacious chatter and laughter behind him, wandering the gardens to the pavilion on his own.

But he had not been the only one searching for solitude.

He had found himself by the side of Rakesh, blinking across the star-speckled pond and stretching his neck against the cool nightly wind.

Neither one of them had talked. A glance was all it took to set the spark inside his chest aflame. One blink of an eye later and his hand was in the Tarkaan’s soft curls. Their lips had met repeatedly, pulling the wine off each other’s mouths.

When Edmund tried to recall these events precisely, everything was blurry and full of heat, a heat he was neither used nor immune to. This tide of boiling and freezing waves made him nauseous.

After that night, he had never seen Rakesh again.

Sleepless nights pulled him back to that one evening and months passed, colouring his cheeks in bone-white and bruised shadows. A long time later, news reached his ear by accident that the Tarkaan had fallen in a local battle.

He felt cold again.

Years passed and the spark had not been lit once again.

Edmund had looked back at that warm summers-night with sweet fondness, as if remembering a particularly pleasant dream. The hunt for the White Stag ended with them stumbling through the wardrobe, trapping their souls in the bodies of small children.

From this day on, the shiver overtook him more often than it had in their ruling years in Narnia.

At home, nightmares haunted his nights, visions of pale, green eyes and blood-red lips. Over and over again, he saw innocent faces with paralysed, grey smiles.

The mere sight of Turkish Delight made him physically sick.

With every passing day, he grew worse and worse, skin almost translucent and those wrong, childish eyes red-rimmed and heavy.

Edmund often caught Peter and Susan whispering, falling quiet as soon as he entered the room. Their worried glances followed him with every step. Every time he met Peter’s eyes he nearly flinched, memories of green eyes flashing before him. Even Susan’s usually calming presence made him uneasy, curling his toes in shame.

Lucy’s bright smile when they visited the Christmas Fair or when they explored the streets was the only thing that he could trust. She had no second thoughts about him, had no lingering resentment.

*

Even after they had returned home the second time, after defeating the Telmarines, the cold did not fade.

It was still cowering somewhere in the depths of his chest, ready to strike.

But this time it was accompanied by something else, something faintly familiar. A sting, quietly and gently carving its way through his heart before erupting into a mighty flare.

By the time they were pulled back to that lonely platform, Edmund was struggling hard not to throw up, not to bite his lips until blood showed. All he managed to do was to hold Lucy, who’s sobs disappeared into his jumper, tears running for both of them.

He kept visualising Susan kissing Prince Caspian, the way he had looked after his sister.

Every fibre in his heart was aching.

After Rakesh, he had never imagined someone else coming along, tearing down the barrier he had struggled so long to build.

And yet this young and shining Telmarine prince had taken his breath away.

*

School developed into more of a nightmare than it had been before. Sharing his dormitories with other boys was not a way to calm his conscience, to make the thoughts go away. His 14-year-old body was trapping him, suffocating.

Teachers looking down on him, condescending smiles, teeth bared.

He felt dirty.

And cold.

Always freezing.

The tiny flame hurt, like an icicle working its way through his flesh.

News of bombings and lists of missing people- everything was closing in on him, hovering above and around.

Susan and Peter left for America.

Their aunt and uncle took Edmund and Lucy in, Eustace Scrub’s brattish grin greeting them every day.

Narnia with its new, magnificent King seemed so endlessly far away.

Edmund had already given up hope on returning. He felt useless in this bleak and scarred world, there was no purpose, no way he could prove himself to those bullies, calling him a faggot. The army seemed like the most reasonable solution. At least he could contribute to the protection of their country.

Once again, he was denied, frowned upon, laughed at. The infinite void in his chest grew with every month and every time he looked in the mirror, the same questions raced through his mind.

_How am I managing? What am I doing here? Why does it all matter?_

He once though the bible might be the answer. Aslan said he could find him by another name in his world. Yet the more he immersed himself in the catholic lectures, the further he drifted away from belief. Every time they spoke their prayers in school, Edmund closed his eyes, his fingers itching convulsively.

The grey outlines of the city, it’s smoking chimneys like ancient beasts, the rattling of automobiles, sirens after sirens- he was so very tired.

*

After disappointments and failures, being sucked in by a faraway painting, losing breath and being surrounded by dark blue was how he usually felt at the end of the day. Yet this time, a flame of hope broke with him through the sea-surface, the sun hitting his face.

This time, he was truly where he belonged.

Lucy’s excited laughter rang in his ears and he felt his heart might explode.

They were home.

Relief and joy flooded him a short while later as he looked from one familiar face to another. Narnia had not grown older by additional thousand years. Edmund and Lucy weren’t the legendary, lost King and Queen from ancient myths.

They were close companions of the current King of Narnia, Caspian X.

Caspian. Edmund’s breath hitched as the smiling prince greeted them, their eyes meeting. Sometime he wasn’t sure whether he believed in destiny or not. Yet at a moment like this, he was almost certain that it was no happenstance.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me about your thoughts in the comments, I would much appreciate it!  
> This has been a challenge for me and I would love to continue with the real story.


End file.
